


Food Aversions

by brainofck



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainofck/pseuds/brainofck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel did the grocery shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food Aversions

"You know, you shouldn't let my current medical status lull you into a false sense of security," said Jack, rounding the corner from the kitchen, belly first, of course. He appeared to be waving... a pint of ice cream? Daniel squinted over the top of his laptop screen.

"Just because I'm eight and one half months pregnant doesn't mean that I don't now how to kill you seventeen different ways with my bare hands."

"Yeah, but you have to catch me first and you aren't as stealthy as you once were," Daniel retorted with a grin. Though he also decided that caution was the better part of valor, moving back as Jack advanced on him.

If Jack started yelling, " _You_ did this to me!!!" the situation could get ugly.

"Not as stealthy?!?!" Jack spluttered. "Oh, you will _so_ pay for that one, Jackson. I'll show you stealthy, you little bastard."

He turned on his heel, and stalked (as best he could manage, though he still hadn't gotten the knack of being that front-heavy and his "stalk" contained a large component of "lumber") back to their bedroom, ice cream in hand.

Jack might be on leave, but Daniel had a mission in the morning and vital texts to translate before they could safely proceed. He sighed and went to the kitchen for more coffee.

* * *

Late, late, late.

He had finished the texts, given the necessary intel to the General, gotten the go ahead for the mission and now they were rushing madly to make the necessary departure window.

He reached in to his locker and yanked on his hat.

Which was filled with something cold and wet. And lumpy.

Swearing every curse word he could think of in every language he had ever learned, he yanked the boonie off again.

The substance was seeping through his hair and running down his forehead and into his eyes.

His hat was full of half melted ice cream and... were those pretzels?

His gaze fell to the bench by his locker door.

And there was the other half of a pint of Chubby Hubby.

Next to it was a note that said, simply, "Seventeen ways."

Image credits to the Department of the Air Force, MGM studios, RDA, and Green Grrl.


End file.
